


Home Again

by lori (zakhad), zakhad



Series: Captain and Counselor, the revised versions [29]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:35:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21606910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/zakhad
Summary: Alexander thinks about his life and ponders the future
Series: Captain and Counselor, the revised versions [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1222406
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	Home Again

_Home is where you feel at home and are treated well. ~~ Dalai Lama_

The ship was so different. Alexander remembered more color, more space, more people -- the _Enterprise_ now felt like a clean but spartan warship, populated by officers who walked around wearing dark uniforms. The quarters he had been given felt smaller than he remembered.

Of course, he was bigger now. He stood in front of the mirror -- an indulgence that Klingons didn't have. Klingons did brush and style hair, but not in front of full-length mirrors of a quality that the image in them wasn't distorted. He stared at his reflection again. When he'd come aboard, after being rescued from the _Rotarran_ , he'd continued to wear the armor; now that the ship was leaving the Empire he'd changed into clothing similar to what he'd worn as a child. Soft, warm, any-color-you-wanted clothing. He put on a white long-sleeved shirt, then a deep green coat. Pants, in a darker green. Some soft boots. He brushed his hair, trimmed his beard, and walked around the quarters, from the living room to the bedroom and bathroom. Ran his hand along the edge of the sink.

He remembered his father, telling him sternly to keep the bathroom clean. To pick up after himself and to not allow his things to become scattered about. He smiled, thinking about the places he had called a 'bedroom' over the past years. How did one keep clean on a Klingon vessel? He wondered if Father had adhered to his own standards, all that time during the war he'd been on Birds of Prey, or if officer's quarters were different than the general quarters.

Joining the Klingon fleet had been a choice he'd made with little rational thought. It had seemed the most workable option at the time. And once assigned, when it started to be obvious that he wasn't really that good at being a warrior. The counselor had told him once that it was fine to be his own person, to be different, but clearly that only worked in Starfleet; Klingon warriors expected him to be callous and boisterous, and were less understanding than his father had been. When he didn't respond as anticipated they mocked him. He had over time learned to accept it without emotional reactions.

He touched gleaming black surfaces and moved through the suite as if in a dream, and wondered what he would do now. No duty meant too much empty time. He sat down on the couch and stared at the vase full of dried flowers on the table.

Flowers. A human affectation. No doubt all the warriors on the _Rotarran_ would scoff at such things. But he liked them. The red ones complemented the gray and black of the room.

"Computer," he said, "play music."

_Please specify._

Alexander thought about all the music he had listened to when he was a child. "Play something from Betazed."

The music that started was full of bells and woodwinds. He thought about Betazed, where the _Enterprise_ was going. He'd been there on the holodeck before. Another thing he had missed -- Klingon ships had no holodecks.

The computer signaled someone was waiting at the door. He stood up, silenced the music. "Enter."

Deanna came into the room. She was so different. He remembered fondly the woman who spent many patient hours teaching him how to name and cope with his turbulent emotions. Today, she wore the black and gray uniform, a red collar at her neck, her hair neatly braided and pinned down against her scalp, and he missed Counselor Troi. Her expression turned sad, telling him that she sensed how he felt, but she kept smiling.

"How are you doing? I'm sorry it took so long to stop in."

"You're the first officer. You're busy," he said. "Do you want something to drink?"

"No, thank you. I've been drinking tea all day," she said, with a sheepish eye roll.

Alexander sat down again, and she joined him on the couch, curling a leg under her to face him more directly. "I heard you got them to drink chamomile tea. A _warrior's drink_ ," he said, laughing.

She gestured broadly with her hands. "What can I say?"

"Well, you did get Father in a mud bath. If anyone can talk a Klingon into enjoying something it's you."

Deanna's head tilted slightly left. "I know the war wasn't a happy time for any of us. But I wonder how you have been since it ended?"

"I wish I could say I was happy. I guess I do better now than I did right after I joined the fleet, but with Klingons you don't get many chances to prove yourself if you fail the first time."

She looked down, her eyes hidden by her eyelids, which were colored by makeup -- another affectation that Klingons did not have. She always complemented her clothing with her makeup, so her lids were done in shades of gray. She seemed upset, in an understated way he had seen before.

"How are you doing?" he asked, troubled and not sure how to talk to her about it.

She looked at him again. "I'm doing well. The change in my assignment has been stressful but not overly so. The mission is over, and we're heading back to the Federation. I have been thinking now about when you left for Earth -- from time to time since then I have worried about you. I didn't like the way things worked out, right before you left."

Alexander knew exactly what she meant. "I was really angry at Father. I blamed him for everything. But I was a kid -- I didn't understand that things don't work out between adults sometimes, and I blamed myself mostly. Because I could never make anyone happy, I couldn't do anything right. I was always in trouble."

Deanna was so sad, as he spoke. "I think you probably know by now that it's not your fault, that it didn't work between your father and I."

"I do. And I can look back at it and wish it worked out for the kid that I was, so you could be my mother, but I also feel that you are better off that it didn't."

That was more upsetting to her. But she hesitated -- she always stopped to think before she responded. "Was Jadzia a good stepmother? I know you weren't a child when you met her."

"I didn't need a mother then. She was a good wife for Father. She challenged him to be better." And Jadzia wasn't Deanna, as pleasant and engaging as she'd been. Jadzia hadn't been there to help Alexander the child.

The young boy he had been had needed a mother, desperately. Somewhere inside him he was still that boy, still wanting to be loved -- he barely remembered his birth mother. Vague impressions of a smiling woman, the sound of her voice, were all he had left of her. His grandmother had been nurturing, loving, supportive, but ultimately unable to help him with the aggressive impulses and rage he'd struggled with. He felt guilt, thinking about her. Going back to the Rozhenkos when his father left the _Enterprise_ had been difficult; after his time on the ship, it felt more like home than his grandparents' house. And being a child in the care of his grandparents, not his father, had left him the lasting impression that he was not wanted. Especially after they brought him back to his father. Being passed around meant he wasn't welcome anywhere.

Except here. Once his father accepted him. And then he'd made other friends. But the counselor had been more important than that.

Deanna pursed her lips and spent another moment in thought. She nodded to herself, evidently making a decision. "I know that you've accepted it for what it was. I know that there's nothing to be done to change anything. But I want you to know that I am sorry, that I wasn't able to do more for you, Alexander. I missed you. I actually thought for a time that it might go differently, that I might be your stepmother. Aside from anything that happened with your father, I cared for you and wanted to be there for you."

Alexander was shocked to see tears in her eyes. He wasn't sure what to do, found himself holding up his arms, and she slid closer, leaned in and hugged him. It was so strange to be bigger, after so many memories of being held by her when he was small. And strange to hold someone. Klingons were not huggers. No one touched him this way, not since he had begun his career in the Empire's fleet.

She pulled away, and he smiled at her again. Her eyes still held tears, but she returned the smile.

"It's okay," he said, uncertain and starting to wonder why she was crying. She'd been so composed before.

"Forgive me," she said, wiping at her eyes with her fingers. "I'm hormonal right now. It makes me cry sometimes for any reason at all. I'm pregnant."

"Wow! You're going to have a baby, that's great! Maybe I'll stick around and work in the nursery."

"Did you speak to my mother?"

"I called and had to leave a message. The woman said something about preparations for a festival?"

Deanna had that knowing, tolerant expression that she usually got, when her mother was around. "Yes. The Festival of Alipha. I'm supposed to dance in the ceremony."

"You can dance? Is the captain dancing too?"

That made her laugh. "Oh, no. He might be there to watch. This is a little different kind of dancing than you're familiar with, I think. Very traditional."

"I bet your mother is really happy that she'll be a grandmother."

That made Deanna's smile dwindle almost to nothing. She was back to uncomfortable. "Actually, I haven't told her yet. If you speak to her please don't mention it. I'd like to tell her in person."

"Sure, no problem." She glanced up at the window behind him. Alexander turned his head; the view had changed. "We've gone to warp. How long until we reach Betazed?"

"Three days to the starbase, and another four days to Betazed. We have a few stops along the way."

"Enough time for a few mokbara classes and a visit to the Old West?"

That resulted in a genuinely-happy smile. "That would be fun. The next class is tomorrow morning at nine hundred hours."

"I'll be there. Thanks."

Deanna stood up, and he followed her example. "I'll see you in the morning, then. And if I can catch up on a few things tonight, I'll have some time for a visit to the holodeck."

"Will the captain come?"

She blinked -- thought about it. "I'll ask him. He might. He does like to ride, though he usually uses different tack. See you tomorrow."

After she left, Alexander realized he felt better. He had been afraid that she might be dismissive -- he'd told himself that wouldn't be like her at all but it had been years since he'd seen her after all. But she wasn't treating him like a child, nor was she as distant as he'd feared.

He laughed aloud. Not the boisterous kind of laughter that Klingons would have, sitting around drinking and singing songs, bragging. He'd stopped laughing for so long, being the target of the warrior's jokes and more of a mascot than a soldier. Just a happy laugh.

"It's my laughing hour," he said out loud. Then he thought about other things he'd liked to do, before. "Is there a holodeck open, computer?"

_Holodeck three is currently available._

"Good. Reserve it for me, I'm on my way."

A warm mud bath sounded nice.


End file.
